“Mama told me how beautiful spring was in England,” she said. “But, although I expected golden daffodils under the trees and the shrubs and hedges coming into bud, I had forgotten that there would be lambs like this and fluffy yellow chicks and waddling baby ducks!”
She picked up a little yellow chick as she spoke and held it in the palm of her hand for the Marquis to look at it.
“Could anything be more adorable?” she asked.
Watching her. Peregrine thought that the same adjective might well apply to her and wondered why the Marquis did not realise how attractive she looked with the chick in her hand and her eyes soft yet radiant with happiness.
Now the happiness was dimmed as Kistna looked ahead.
“What I want you to do,” the Marquis said and there was a definite note of satisfaction in his voice, “is to go upstairs and put on your prettiest and most expensive-looking gown. Ask your maid to arrange your hair and be ready when I send for you to meet your future husband, the Earl of Branscombe.”
“He is – here?”
There was no doubt of the dismay in Kistna’s voice.
“That is his phaeton,” the Marquis replied. “As you can see, it is a very expensive vehicle and I commend your attention to his horses, which are always outstanding!”
There was a little sting in the way he spoke and Kistna looked at him.
She did not speak and after a moment he said,
“You promised to do what I ask of you, Kistna! Be careful to remember your name is Mirabelle, which is how I shall address you.”
“I have – not forgotten,” Kistna said in a low voice, “but I was wondering why – when you wish me to marry him – that you do not – like the Earl.”
“Who said I did not like him?”
“I heard it – in your voice.”
“I think you are being over-imaginative,” the Marquis responded coldly.
They had reached the gravel sweep outside the front door and he drew his horses to a standstill behind the phaeton belonging to the Earl.
They stepped out and, because she knew that she must obey her orders, Kistna hurried up the staircase to her room.
The Marquis turned to Peregrine with a smile on his lips.
“You were right!” he said in a voice that the servants could not hear. “The fish has risen to the fly and now all we have to do is to land him!”
“I will leave you to do that,” Peregrine replied, “but just remember one thing, Linden.”
“What is that?”
“You are playing a game with people not chessmen.”
The Marquis looked at him in perplexity, but Peregrine had already turned away and was climbing the stairs towards his own room.
A footman opened the door of the salon where the Earl was waiting.
As the Marquis entered, he saw him at the far end and was instantly aware of a feeling of dislike and distrust.
But he appeared both genial and surprised as he moved forward to say,
“Good afternoon, Branscombe! This is an unexpected visit!”
“I was on my way to stay with Lord Verulam at Gorhambury,” the Earl replied. “As I wished to see you on a personal matter, I do hope that you will forgive me for not notifying you of my arrival.”
“Of course,” the Marquis answered. “Please sit down? I see that my servants have brought you some refreshment.”
The Earl had a glass of champagne in his hand. Now he put it on a side table and did not sit, as the Marquis had suggested, but stood in front of the mantelpiece, as if he found what he had to say easier if he was on his feet.
The Marquis poured himself a small glass of champagne and waited, knowing that the Earl was finding it somewhat embarrassing to know how to start.
“I have been aware for some time, Alchester,” he began at last, “that I should get married. As you will know, it is the wish of their Majesties that those in constant attendance on them, like myself, should have a wife.”
He paused and then, as the Marquis did not speak, he went on,
“My wife would, of course, be singularly fortunate in that she, as hereditary Lady of the Bedchamber would be not only be a constant companion for Her Majesty but also a friend.”
As the Earl continued standing, the Marquis seated himself in one of the armchairs and, crossing his legs, leaned back.
He thought that he was enjoying more than he had enjoyed anything for a long time seeing the Earl is the unaccustomed position, in effect, of being a supplicant.
“As the Queen is so young,” the Earl continued, “twenty-six next birthday, it would be therefore pleasant for Her Majesty to have a younger person around her than she has at the moment. I am sure you will agree with me.”
“Of course,” the Marquis murmured.
“That is one reason why I have decided after a great deal of thought and consideration that I need a wife who is young in years, but naturally one who by birth and breeding qualifies for the position she will hold not only at Court but as my wife.”
Again he waited for the Marquis to speak, but he merely nodded his agreement and took another sip of champagne.
“It is not always easy to find exactly what one wants in life,” the Earl said, “but I think that there is one young woman who I could say, in all sincerity, fulfils my requirements in almost every particular and that, Alchester, is your Ward – Mirabelle Chester.”
The Marquis gave a well-simulated start.
“Mirabelle!” he exclaimed. “But she has not yet made her debut.”
“She is, however, eighteen I believe,” the Earl remarked.
“That is true, but I had not thought of her being married so quickly after her arrival in England.”
“I cannot see any point in waiting.”
The Marquis put down his glass.
“You have certainly taken me by surprise, Branscombe. Of course, as Mirabelle’s Guardian, I can see the advantages that she would gain by marrying you, just as I can also see the advantages to you.”
There was no need to say more and he saw the flicker of greed in the Earl’s eyes as he asked almost too casually for it to be natural,
“I believe she has a large fortune.”
“Very large!” the Marquis agreed. “In fact an astronomical one and likely to increase.”
“Then I presume I have your permission,” the Earl said with an undoubted note of triumph in his voice, “to pay my addresses to your Ward and ask for her hand in marriage?”
“I cannot, of course, refuse such a request,” the Marquis replied formally, “but there is one condition,”
“Condition?”
“It is that since whoever Mirabelle marries will have the handling of her entire fortune when he marries her, I want my Ward to receive a certain sum of money from her bridegroom which will be hers unconditionally and for life.”
The Marquis thought as he spoke, that he had phrased what he had said so cleverly that he had not actually lied, but had manipulated the words ‘Mirabelle’ and ‘Ward’ so that he spoke the truth.
He was aware that the Earl was looking at him in astonishment.
“What would be the point of that?” he enquired.
“I wish my Ward to feel independent of her husband.”
“I can assure you that I will always be extremely generous.”
“At the same time,” the Marquis continued, “we all know of cases where a rich woman has been unable to obtain a penny of her own fortune once it became by marriage legally her husband’s property.”
“As I have just said, I am known to be generous,” the Earl boasted.
“I still have to safeguard my Ward’s interests,” the Marquis persisted.
There was a little pause and then the Earl asked,
“How much are you proposing I should settle on her?”
“I was thinking, considering that Mirabelle’s fortune is so colossal,” the Marquis said, “that my Ward should receive on her Wedding day a capital sum that would bring her in one tho
usand pounds a year!”
“That is impossible!” the Earl snapped.
“Impossible?” the Marquis queried.
“I did not expect you to make such a strange request,” the Earl said aggressively, “but, as you have done so, I have to admit to you, of course in confidence, that it would be very difficult if not impossible for me to do what you ask.”
“I find that incredible,” the Marquis replied.
The Earl walked to the table where there was a bottle of champagne in a silver ice bucket and, without asking permission, helped himself to another glass.
“I will be frank with you, Alchester,” he said, after he had drunk some of the champagne, “and explain something that few people know about, but which has left me in a somewhat embarrassing position.”
The Marquis waited, thinking that this was something he had not expected.
“My grandfather was a rich man,” the Earl began, “but a very extravagant one. He also had a large family, all of whom he provided for in what my father, as the eldest son, thought was an over-generous manner.”
The Marquis smiled slightly knowing that it was traditional in aristocratic families that, while the oldest son took everything, the younger members were usually kept on very short commons.
“My grandfather,” the Earl continued, “was also, as I am, extremely proud of our ancestry. You will therefore understand that, when Prince Frederick of Melderstein suggested that he should marry his youngest daughter, he was delighted.”
The Marquis raised his eyebrows.
“I know Prince Frederick, but I had no idea that his wife was your aunt.”
“She is not,” the Earl said, “and that is the whole point of what I am telling you.”
The way he spoke, told the Marquis he did not like being interrupted, and he went on,
“The marriage was arranged and, because it was made quite obvious to my grandfather that the Prince expected a very large dowry with his bride, he behaved in what I consider a very reprehensible manner.”
“What did he do?” the Marquis asked already knowing the answer.
“He settled a considerable sum of money on my aunt and for some reason I have never been able to ascertain made it over to her on the day before the Wedding actually took place.”
The Marquis was listening intently, but he did not interrupt and the Earl added dramatically,
“Then she disappeared!”
“Disappeared?”
“On the night before the Wedding! As she took no possessions with her, it was thought at the time, and I still think so, that it was a case of foul play. She was obviously murdered!”
“But you have never been able to prove it?”
“How could we when there was no sign of her body?” the Earl asked sharply.
“And what this means,” the Marquis said slowly, “is that you cannot touch the money that was settled on her by your grandfather.”
“That is so,” the Earl agreed. “At least I cannot do so, the Courts informed me, until after a lapse of twenty-five years. Then, I believe, she will be assumed dead and the money will revert to me.”
“How much longer have you to wait?”
“Another five years or so.”
The Marquis’s lips twisted in what Peregrine would have thought was his cruel smile.
“I understand your predicament, Branscombe,” he said, “but you will understand that in the light of these unfortunate circumstances I could not give my permission for you to marry my Ward.”
“You would refuse me?”
The Earl’s voice shook with astonishment.
“I am afraid so,” the Marquis replied, “unless, of course, you could scrape together enough money to make my Ward independent.”
He gave a little laugh.
“It should not be difficult to borrow any sum you fancy on such expectations.”
The Earl walked restlessly across the hearthrug and, having drunk the champagne he had in his glass, once again he helped himself.
The Marquis waited and finally the Earl said,
“If I settle enough to bring in your Ward five hundred pounds a year, would you be satisfied?”
“Supposing we make it seven hundred and fifty pounds?” the Marquis suggested. “After all, with our horses winning the Derby side by side, we should be able to come to an amicable agreement on slightly lower stakes.”
The Earl thought for a moment.
Then he said,
“Very well, but I consider you have driven a hard bargain, which I had not expected, Alchester.”
“I am not thinking of you, but of my Ward,” the Marquis replied, “I presume now that you would like to see her?”
“Of course,” the Earl agreed. “And I would like to suggest that the marriage takes place without much delay. I know that it would please the Queen and I have my own reasons for not wishing to wait unnecessarily long before my marriage.”
The Marquis had the idea that his reason were wholly financial, but he merely rang the bell and, when a footman appeared, ordered,
“Ask my Ward to join me.”
“Very good, my Lord.”
As the door was closed again, the Earl said,
“I was thinking that I would like to introduce Mirabelle to London as my wife, rather than have you taking her there first as a debutante and then announcing our engagement.”
The Marquis thought that the Earl must be in more urgent need of funds than he had intimated.
That he was in such a hurry certainly coincided with his own plans.
But he had no intention of appearing too eager.
“Do you think that would be a good idea?” he asked. “Surely your relatives will think it very strange if they do not meet your future wife before you are married? And I suppose that my own family would wish to meet you.”
“I see no reason for those extremely boring family gatherings,” the Earl said sharply. “What I think would be far easier for both of us would be for the marriage to take place here in your Private Chapel and then we can astound the Social world when it is a fait accompli.”
“That is certainly something that commends itself to me,” the Marquis said, “because, if there is one thing I really dislike, it is a Wedding. At the same time it is something I would first wish to discuss with my Ward. And alone.”
He thought as he spoke that if the Earl suggested a hasty marriage to Kistna without his preparing her for it, she might easily refuse to entertain such an idea. Worse still, she might give the whole game away.
The Earl had no time to acquiesce when the door opened and Kistna came in.
She was looking lovely, the Marquis decided at first glance. He also sensed that she was very frightened.
Her green gown was an elaborate and fashionable creation that was obviously extremely costly. Her hair was equally elaborate and she wore a tiny cluster of real snowdrops at her neck that made her look the embodiment of spring.
She advanced towards them, the Marquis noted, at exactly the correct pace, stopping at the right place to curtsey.
Then with her eyes very wide, she looked only at him.
Because he knew how nervous she was, the Marquis took her hand in his and felt her fingers trembling like the wings of a captured bird.
He gave it a gentle pressure to give her confidence and said,
“I want to present, my dear, the Earl of Branscombe, who has asked if he may pay his addresses to you and I can only commend him as a most suitable husband.”
With difficulty the Marquis kept the sarcasm out of his voice.
The Earl bowed and there was no doubt that with his skilfully tied cravat, his close-fitting whipcord riding coat and high polished Hessian boots, he was a very handsome and fashionable figure of a man.
“Your Guardian, Miss Chester,” he said to Kistna, “has given his permission to our union and I therefore have the honour to ask you to be my wife.”
He put out his hand as he spoke and the Marquis, feeling t
hat Kistna was incapable of speech or movement, gave the hand he had been holding to the Earl.
He raised it to his lips.
“I feel sure,” he said, “that we will deal extremely well together.”
Still Kistna did not speak and the Marquis said hastily,
“I think that this calls for a glass of champagne and I must, of course, drink your health.”
He moved towards the table and poured champagne into two glasses, one for himself and one for Kistna.
He carried them back to where she was still standing still, while the Earl had begun a monologue that made him sound more conceited with every word he spoke.
“As your Guardian will doubtless tell you,” he said, “His Majesty relies greatly on me for advice and support and the Queen asks my opinion on everything she does. It is a great responsibility and one that I hope my wife will share with me, just as I hope that she will share the many demands made on me in Hampshire where the Branscombes have for many centuries played the leading part in County affairs.”
The Marquis put a glass of champagne into Kistna’s hand and then he raised his own to say,
“Let me drink to both of you! May you have many years of happiness!”
“Thank you,” the Earl murmured.
He tipped all the champagne that was left in his glass down his throat while Kistna only took a tiny sip.
She was so pale that the Marquis thought suddenly that she was as white as the snowdrops at her neck and he was afraid that she might faint.
“Why do you not fetch Mr. Wallingham?” he suggested. “I am sure that he would wish to hear the happy news.”
“I-I will – do that,” Kistna said in what seemed to be a strangled voice.
She put down her glass on the nearest table and hurried towards the door.
“She is young and shy,” the Marquis explained, as if he felt he must make some excuse for her silence.
The Earl smiled.
“That is an attribute I find desirable in my future wife.”
There was something in the way he spoke that made the Marquis want to hit him.
Then, as he moved towards the bell to order more champagne, he was sure that Kistna would not return and he hoped that the Earl would not find such shyness suspicious.
As the Marquis had suspected, there was no sign of Kistna when Peregrine arrived to drink the Earl’s health and complimented him in such an insincere manner that he was forced to frown at him.
From Hell to Heaven Page 12
